Blanket
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Caryl, One-shot. ZA/AU. Set in the prison. "If you're not nice, I won't let you share my blanket." Rated for adult language/situations.


**AN: This is in response to a Caryl fluff request on Tumblr by an anon that wanted them both to have colds. It's just some silly, light fluff.**

 **I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"If you're not nice, I won't let you share my blanket," Carol said.

Daryl's first instinct might have been not take her seriously at all, but she was standing beside his bed and, wrapped around her shoulders like a ridiculously oversized cape, she had one of the nice blankets that Glenn had acquired on a run. Daryl recognized the blanket because he'd seen her admiring it and he'd seen her leave it the moment that Maggie had expressed some interest in it. Maggie already had a nice blanket though—nicer than the standard prison ones—so Daryl had stepped in and taken the thing to leave on Carol's cot as a gift.

In her hands, Carol held the bottle from which she fully intended to try to force him to drink. The cough syrup was expired, and it tasted like shit, but they'd discovered that drinking a little extra helped to achieve the desired symptom relief. It also made them light-headed, though, and stripped away some of their senses. Daryl didn't care for the drunk feeling or the taste.

 _And Carol knew that._

"I don't want that shit," Daryl growled. Speaking did little more than make his throat hurt and the feeling in his throat just started up the coughing again that made his throat hurt even more. The cold, which Hershel assured him wasn't life-threating and would eventually pass, kept creating cycles that just prolonged the suffering.

"I don't want to be up all night listening to you hack," Carol responded. "Stop being a big old baby about it and drink the cough syrup... _Dixon_."

She added the last part of her command like an afterthought. Then she laughed to herself. In her syrup-sodden stupor, she found her bossiness amusing.

"You had enough of it, that's for damn sure," Daryl commented.

Carol's laughing morphed into a groan.

"Drink the cough syrup," she said, some whine to her voice. "So we can both get some sleep. You're worse than Sophia ever was. And I can hear you in my cell. Everyone can hear you. Your hacking is echoing everywhere."

"Shit makes my head feel loopy," Daryl said. "I don't like it."

"Do you like not sleeping?" Carol asked. "Do you like—lying here sounding like you're about to...about to spit out a lung?" Daryl stared at her and she frowned at him. She pushed the bottle toward him again. "For me, then?" She asked. "Because if I don't sleep? I'm never going to get better and I'm going to have made it this far to die in prison from the common cold."

Daryl growled to himself and took the bottle. He took a swallow from it and cringed at the taste, almost gagging on the thick syrup as it coated the inside of his mouth and his throat. Carol was there, offering him a bottle of water, before he could even finish swallowing down the syrup. She traded him the water for the cough syrup and returned the lid to the bottle before she put it on the nightstand beside his bed.

"You happy now?" Daryl asked.

Carol nodded.

"As happy as I can be," she said, sniffling a little.

"You gonna blow out my lamp and go away now?" Daryl asked.

Carol looked at the lamp that she'd been responsible for lighting like it had magically appeared out of nowhere. She watched it far longer than anyone ever needed to watch the dancing flame of a camping lantern. Whether it was the cold or the medicine to treat it, something had dulled her senses enough to slow her down a good bit.

"If that's what you want me to do," Carol said finally.

Honestly, that wasn't what Daryl wanted her to do. He could hide the way he felt better than most of them around the prison, but the truth was that he simply felt bad. He felt cruddy and itchy in his own skin. He felt uncomfortable no matter what he did. He felt, deep down inside where he wasn't going to let anyone know about it, like he had when he was a little kid and he was sick and miserable and wanted someone to just take it away from him. He wanted someone to just be with him while he wallowed around in his misery.

But he wasn't going to tell Carol that. He wasn't going to tell anyone that.

"Do what you want," Daryl said. "I don't give a damn. Long as you blow out the damn light. That shit's making my head messed up already and that flame dancing around don't help things." Carol visibly shivered, sniffed again, and leaned to blow out the lamp. She stood there, in the darkness, beside Daryl's bed for a moment. He could see her silhouette in the reintroduced darkness and he was aware of her sniffling.

"Did you want to share my blanket?" Carol asked.

"What?" Daryl asked.

"My blanket," Carol said. "Did you want to share it? It's cold in here and—you don't have anything but that little blanket. Daryl they're hardly more than rags. You're going to get worse if you don't get warm."

Daryl hadn't even realized he was cold, but Carol talking about it made him catch the shiver that he'd seen run through her body. He felt it crawl up his spine and set the hair on his neck to prickling.

"Be alright," he said. "Not cold enough to freeze to death."

Carol growled and pushed at him. He moved, not sure what she was doing.

"Shove over," Carol said. "Don't be such a martyr."

Daryl moved his body over, closer to the wall, at her command. He still wasn't sure, though, what her intention was until she sat on the edge of the bed and flicked back the thin blanket that he called his own. She crawled under it before she spread her blanket over top of both of them. Daryl was immediately enveloped in warmth.

And he was also immediately overwhelmed. His pulse kicked up as Carol moved her body to press against him so that there would be room for both of them on the tiny cot. From chest to feet, Carol's body was warm against him and perfectly aligned with his. Daryl held his breath. She rooted around, finding a place on his pillow for her head, and Daryl swallowed when she moaned over the feeling of settling down.

"Warm," she said.

Daryl closed his eyes when she wiggled around a little.

Sick or not sick, cough medicine or not, Daryl was going to have some explaining to do if Carol didn't stop squirming around. Every time she moved her ass was brushing against him under the cover and it was making him go even more lightheaded than the expired syrup.

"You—were plannin' on sleeping in here?" Daryl asked.

Carol moved again and Daryl grit his teeth against the friction. She sat up somewhat.

"You wanted me to go?" She asked. "I can go. I just thought—I'm cold and you might be cold. We could share some body heat."

Daryl was thinking of sharing more than that—and he wasn't sure how she would feel if she became aware of what his brain was pestering him to consider when she was only interested in getting over the cold that was sweeping the prison like a low-grade plague.

"Stay," Daryl said. "But for fuck's sake—get _still_."

Carol laughed to herself.

"You're grouchy when you're sick," she said.

"And you're looney when you're sick," Daryl countered.

"You could make it easier, you know," Carol said. "More comfortable. You're so rigid it's like—I'm sleeping against the wall but with less space. You could put your arm over me. I'm not going to bite."

Carol biting him really wasn't something that Daryl was concerned about. Until she said it, it wasn't even something that he'd thought about. Now, though, it appeared that it was going to be something that he wasn't entirely able to _stop_ thinking about.

He did move his arm, though, to put it over her. Moving his arm resulted in moving his body, and he closed his eyes once more at the sensation of her body rubbing against his. He tried to think of the worst thing he could—some half-decayed Walker oozing through the chain link of the fences—and readjusted the blankets to make sure that they were both as wrapped up as they could possibly be.

Carol groaned again and then she sighed in the darkness.

"You OK over there?" Daryl asked.

"Feels nice," Carol said. "Warm. Comfortable. Are you comfortable, Daryl?"

Daryl hesitated. He couldn't exactly say that he was _comfortable_. He was conflicted. He very much liked Carol being there. He liked the heat. He liked the feeling of her body next to his and the way that she just seemed to _fit_. But he wasn't exactly comfortable. At least, not all of him was—not at this moment.

And letting his mind lose its grip on the image of the oozing Walker didn't help matters.

He held his breath. There was nothing he could do about it. He had to wait it out and hope that she didn't notice. He had to wait it out and hope that she didn't move anymore to make matters worse.

Carol, for her part, was quiet and still, though. He assumed that she'd been half-asleep when she'd asked about his comfort. He assumed that she'd simply drifted all the way off.

And it was perfect timing.

Daryl relaxed as much as he could, despite his slightly _growing_ problem, and closed his eyes. He wouldn't fall asleep right away, but at least he could relax.

Carol cleared her throat.

"Daryl?" She asked. "Are you—OK?"

Daryl swallowed.

"Fine," he said.

Maybe she hadn't noticed. Maybe, if he didn't draw attention to anything, she'd just go back to sleep. His head was swimming a little with the cough syrup. Surely hers was too.

"Is that...?" Carol asked.

"What?" Daryl asked. He closed his eyes and hoped she was going to ask him about some creak or groan or squeak that she heard echoing around the prison. He hoped she was going to ask him about anything going on outside the cell. At the moment, as a show of good faith, he'd probably go and check it out for her just to save himself from the almost certain mortification that he was facing.

"Are you...Daryl?" Carol stammered out the words and then she cleared her throat. "Daryl is that your...are you _enjoying_ this?"

"Fuck," Daryl said. It was the only thing he could say. He couldn't deny it and he'd rather not affirm it.

Carol didn't immediately say anything. She was quiet for a second and then she laughed quietly to herself and, to make matters worse, readjusted herself so that she moved against him again—almost like she was doing it on _purpose_ this time. Daryl hissed at her and she laughed quietly once more.

"If I'd known that sharing my blanket was all it would take," Carol said. "I would've offered to share it months ago."

"What?" Daryl asked.

"I'd have shared my blanket months ago," Carol repeated. "If I'd known you'd be interested."

She didn't move from her spot. She didn't try to get up. She didn't move forward to try to get away from him. She remained right where she was.

"You mean you ain't—leaving?" Daryl asked.

"Did you want me to leave?" Carol asked.

"Thought you might be _mad_ ," Daryl pointed out.

That laugh again—the giggle that Carol got when she was in a really good mood or, as Daryl had learned recently, when she was high as a kite on cough syrup.

"Why would I be mad?" Carol asked. "Unless—you don't mean it?"

"I don't mean it," Daryl said. "Didn't mean for it to happen."

Immediately he realized how it sounded when Carol threw back the blanket and started to get up. He caught her arm, not quite able to get an apology out as quickly as she could remove herself from the situation.

"It's OK," Carol said. "I'll go back to my cell. You can keep the blanket."

"Didn't mean that either," Daryl said quickly. "Not—not like it come out." He held her arm tight and Carol held still. She was either concerned about her arm or interested in what he had to say. Daryl didn't know which, but he was seizing the opportunity. "Didn't mean it like that," he repeated. "Meant—that I didn't mean for it to happen because you're sick and I'm sick and we just need to sleep and you didn't come in here for that. Didn't mean that...hell...I just didn't mean it the way it come out."

He could feel some of the tension coming out of Carol's body.

"You don't want me to leave?" Carol asked.

"Want you to stay," Daryl said. "Share your blanket with me. Get some sleep. I'm dog ass tired and I know you are too because you're wobbling even as you sit there. But—you're all up against me and I can't exactly control it. Not all the way."

Carol hesitated a moment. She remained sitting there for a moment and then she finally returned to the bed. She renewed Daryl's problem, even making it worse than before, before she was settled again in the spot she'd been in, her body flat against his.

Daryl took the chance and dropped his arm over her again, pulling her even a little tighter into him before he adjusted the blankets once more to envelope them both in the most warmth that the prison had to offer at the moment. He sniffed and, despite his overwhelming congestion, he got a faint whiff of her scent from the back of her neck and hair.

She settled, sighing once more, and Daryl assumed there was nothing left to say about it all. He assumed that he didn't have to tell her that he was glad she wasn't leaving. He wasn't sure he could say it, anyway, if he was supposed to.

"Daryl?" Carol asked again, this time her voice barely coming out as more than a slightly hoarse whisper. He hummed in question and moved his hand, brushing it over her body without even really meaning to. "When we're not sick," Carol said, "do you think—you might want to share my blanket?"

Daryl swallowed.

He thought about how she felt right now, perfectly fitted against his body. He thought about how she'd looked standing in front of him when she'd brought the cough syrup in. How he'd pretended to be annoyed with her—like he so often did—when really she was the most welcome sight he ever really saw these days.

He hummed at her and, this time, dared to move his hand, on purpose, over her body before he slipped it down and pulled her tight against him.

"Yeah," he said, speaking in her ear. "And..." He hesitated. His pulse kicked up and everything in his mind warned him to abort his mission—everything warned him he was about to make a fool of himself. But he reminded himself that this was Carol—and Carol had never made him feel like a fool. "And if you do? Share your blanket? I'll be real nice about it."

Carol giggled quietly before she shifted around again and sighed once more.

"I'd like that," she assured him.

Daryl felt his muscles relax as the voice that had warned him of his impending doom quieted and his brain gave over to relaxation and the slight swimming sensation of the cough syrup.

"Me too," he said quietly.


End file.
